


Unexpected Encounter

by EpsilonBeta, wargoddess



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Citadel DLC, Control Ending, M/M, PWP, Round Robin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:42:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EpsilonBeta/pseuds/EpsilonBeta, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargoddess/pseuds/wargoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some wonderful art by StarfleetSpectre over at tumblr caused Wargoddess and I to get smutty.<br/>Enjoy!</p><p>http://media.tumblr.com/ace7958224080f932f244f2e77a33ee1/tumblr_inline_mrihx5F9FM1qz4rgp.jpg</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Kaidan’s seen the way the mismatched eyes currently holding his gaze watch Shepard, so naturally, when he notices the subtle smirk make it’s way across Massani’s mouth, and it registers that the merc has just propositioned him, he’s struck dumb. Face blank, processing his thoughts, he almost says no, mostly because in the short time he’s known Zaeed, the thought hadn’t actually occurred that the merc would be anything other than a cold, ruthless killer.

Kaidan laughs it off, and Zaeed takes that as a polite refusal, patting the biotic on the shoulder affectionately before walking off to chat with Wrex and Javik some more. As the night wears on, Kaidan can’t help but notice the breadth of Massani’s shoulders, and the greenness of his good eye, the way it twinkles when he cracks the occasional joke, the way the scars twist with the rare wry smile that graces the older man’s face. When Zaeed stretches, and his t-shirt rides up, Kaidan’s attention is caught by the slightest hint of another tattoo, and now Kaidan’s wondering just how far down the ink goes…

And then he jerks his eyes up, 'cause Massani’s caught him looking. The lopsided mouth stretches in a smile. “Change your mind?”

That gravelly voice. The look in those eyes, somehow challenging and casual at the same time. No strings attached, the old merc’s face says. No fuss, no muss, no bother -- just a good hard, fast ride.

 _Has_ he changed his mind? Do tattoos have a taste? Can you feel them with your tongue, if you —

Kaidan doesn’t answer because he can’t. His cock’s thinking, _Hell yeah let’s do this_ and the rest of him’s not thinking in words at all. Zaeed laughs a little, like he can hear all this somehow. He gets up, grabbing his drink, and says to no one in particular, “Gonna go see if that goddamn krogan’s still shitfaced in the shower.” Then he heads out of the room. He walks like a man who knows exactly what to do with every part of his body.

 _Hell yeah_ , Kaidan finally thinks, all over. _Let’s do this_.

Kaidan waits for a few moments before making his own excuses, muttering something about needing the bathroom, and then makes his way towards the stairs. He’s barely made it onto the landing before a strong hand grips his wrist and pulls him towards its owner. He looks up to find Zaeed smirking down at him, smugness radiating off the man almost tangibly.

“I asked if you changed your mind. You didn’t answer me, Alenko.”

Kaidan can’t help but shudder as Zaeed leans in and brushes his lips across the shell of his ear. “Kaidan. Do you want me to fuck you?” He asks, his tone surprisingly gentle.

“Oh, _hell yes_ , Massani. Yes.” Kaidan replies, brain no longer fully functioning as he feels his fatigues grow tighter.

Zaeed looks like he’s about to make some self-satisfied quip, so Kaidan decides the time for talking is done, wraps one hand around the back of the merc’s neck and pulls him down until their lips are crushed together.

He can’t taste Zaeed, even with the man’s tongue halfway to his throat. There’s a taste, that is, but he can’t process it, not along with the heat of his mouth or the brief pain of lips against lips with teeth behind them — _gonna bruise_ — or the hard press of his body. Or the raw demand he’s feeling: _I want you to fuck me_. He needs that. He’s never _needed_ it like this — wanted it, had it, liked it, but never felt like he’ll die if he doesn’t feel this man on him, in him, right here and now.

"Get a room!" someone laughs from below, and it’s a capital suggestion. Kaidan hooks his fingers into the merc’s shirt and pulls him along and goes sideways up the stairs. The merc laughs and hooks an arm around him, as loose as Kaidan is fierce — but it’s Zaeed whose tongue is working in and out of his mouth in the most obviously suggestive sort of way. The wet sounds of it are driving Kaidan crazy. They make it into the bedroom and Kaidan blindly fumbles the door shut and Grunt’s still in the shower mumbling about Fishdog Food Shack and Kaidan just doesn’t care. Let the kid watch, if he sobers up enough, and take notes.

"Bed, floor, wall?" Zaeed doesn’t take his mouth off Kaidan’s to ask this, and as soon as he does his tongue’s back in, out, in, out again. Kaidan has to drag himself free to talk.

"Don’t fucking care." Kaidan mumbles between ragged breaths. He struggles to maintain the small semblance of composure he has left as Zaeed’s mouth traces his jaw and closes on the side of his throat, sucking gently. _That’s probably going to leave a mark_ , he thinks, before deciding he really doesn’t care because _it feels so fucking good_.

He’s barely aware that he’s been backed up towards the bed until his knees buckle and he finds the mattress underneath him, leaving him at eye level with Zaeed’s belt buckle. He’s let Massani take control this far, but it’s now his turn to tease. He brushes his lips over the bulge in the fabric of Zaeed’s pants, chuckling darkly as he hears the hoarse groan in response. He flicks his tongue out to add more pressure, drags his teeth along the hard length, and can’t help but smile as he feels a hand work its way through his thick, dark hair.

"Can you cash that check your mouth’s writing?" Zaeed sounds half amused, half wondering. "Never figured you for the type, honestly."

 _You don’t know anything about me._ But Kaidan doesn’t feel like talking. He feels like… yanking Zaeed’s pants open, keeping his lips on the suggestion of that fat cockhead as he does it, until he has to pull away to shift the fabric aside. He’s surprised to find tented boxers underneath; he’d figured Zaeed for the commando type, literally.

 _I don’t know anything about him_. For an instant it’s frightening, and he pauses. What if — so many what ifs. Then Zaeed’s fingers flex against his scalp, not encouraging or impatient, just there, and he thinks of what else those fingers might do to him. Just like that, the fear is gone. So many what ifs. He fucking wants them _all_.

So he hauls that fat sweet thing out of Massani’s shorts and grips his hips and pulls him in and swallows him down like he’s made of wine instead of solid heat, and Massani’s half-groaned, “Fucking _hell_ , Alenko,” is his reward.

He can’t help but moan in response as just like that, Zaeed’s halfway down his throat, the hand in his hair trembling slightly. It feels like ages since he’s last done this, even longer since he enjoyed it this much. A little part of him feels guilty for being so into a slightly drunken encounter with a man who’s barely more than a stranger, but fuck it, it’s just too damn good to feel bad about.

The power trip of having this hardened merc gasping, legs shaking, eyes fluttering closed and biting his lip, has Kaidan’s own cock unimaginably hard, throbbing with need, protesting against his fatigues. He ignores his own desire, as he drags blunt fingernails across Massani’s ass, taking a firm grip of muscular flesh and pulling him close, until thighs are flush against chest.

Zaeed’s hand grips his hair firmly, pulling him back and forcing him to meet the other man’s eyes. “You look far too fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth, Alenko.” He smiles, more affectionately than Kaidan would have expected.

"So get your clothes off, Massani."  Kaidan’s voice is rough from the mouth-fucking, and because he’s so hungry for more that it’s hard to talk.  "And stick your cock somewhere else."

Zaeed’s chuckle is rough too, rougher than his voice usually is, and probably for the same reason. But he rolls onto his back, arching to haul the shirt over his head.  He has to let go Kaidan’s hair to do this, and Kaidan immediately aches with the loss.  So he rolls with Zaeed, keeping Zaeed’s cock close — _mine_ — licking him and hauling his pants down further for a kiss on his grizzled balls and fighting the urge to devour him again.  Zaeed laughs, kicking to get his boots off, lifting his hips to help Kaidan with the pants, cursing whenever Kaidan’s lips or tongue do something he likes.

But then — Zaeed’s naked and splayed out before Kaidan, and Kaidan can’t keep after just the man’s dick (no matter how much he wants it) when the rest of him is like a work of art.  Not beautiful:  too chisel-carved, too rough, like his voice. A Rodin and not a Michaelangelo. But the lines and colors march _everywhere_ over broad planes and edge-cut ridges, over scars that should be ugly and aren’t, other skin grafts he hasn’t bothered to have cosmetically smoothed, and well, Rodins have ten times the soul of Michaelangelos, anyway.

He slides a hand over Zaeed’s belly, because he has to touch _some_ of this.  His hand’s shaking.  “You’re kind of pretty, too, Massani,” he says.

Zaeed barks out a laugh, and it’s as rugged and unexpectedly pleasant as the rest of him. “First time anyone’s called  _me_ pretty.”

Kaidan grins against his inner thigh, nipping gently at the taut muscle. There’s a teasing tone to his voice as he asks, “Would you prefer something else? Beautiful? Gorgeous? Handsome? _Incredibly fuckable?_ " 

"Get the fuck up here and put that goddamn talented mouth to better use." Zaeed chuckles, his hand carding through silky dark hair again and then guiding Kaidan up by it, until they’re face-to-face again and Zaeed can run his tongue along the Major’s lips.

Kaidan sinks into it, paying attention to the kiss this time, giving back as good as he’s been getting with the tongue.  Zaeed tastes like whiskey, of course — good-quality stuff, which makes Kaidan like him even more.  He quests after that taste, delving deep, and Zaeed rumbles a laugh and makes room for him, teasing Kaidan’s tongue with his own.

He’s not paying attention to Zaeed’s hands, though, which are deftly undoing the catches on his fatigues, and easing the jacket off.  He notices, sort of, when Zaeed moves them a little, one side and then the other, shifting beneath him — but beyond groaning at the inadvertent (?) grind of Zaeed’s hip against the bulge in his pants he doesn’t think about it.  He notices, finally, when fingers smooth over his bare skin, and the room’s suddenly cooler, and he feels a moment of awe for a man who can get him half undressed without him even noticing.

"Look at you," Zaeed breathes, and Kaidan’s forced to give up his mouth again.  He resents this until Zaeed’s thumb finds his nipple, the rest of his fingers splaying across Kaidan’s ribs, and the little steady circling movement makes him gasp and sit up a little to look.

At first he notices only Zaeed's hand: tatted and heavy-knuckled and nicked all over with scars from overloaded heat sinks and bar brawls and maybe thresher-maw acid. The palm's huge, and he can feel the raw strength in it. The fingers are surprisingly long, and not as callused or thick as Kaidan expected. Deft. It's that deftness, that circling thumb, that makes him realize what Zaeed's so fascinated by. Compared to Zaeed's painted, nimble, scarred hand Kaidan is blunt and smooth, visibly unmarked by the violence of his life. No tats; he's never been proud enough of himself to decorate his flesh that way. But no scars, either. That line across the belly where Vyrnnus tagged him with a claw by 'accident'? He had to go through Class A disinfection because of the dextro bacteria, so it healed cleanly. The Brain Camp beatings that broke his bones? The evidence only shows up in medscans. The buggy old L2 implant in his skull has scarred half his occipital lobe, but no one can see that. The cracked skull that almost killed him on Mars? No one can see that. He's the blank canvas, and Zaeed is the finished work, but Kaidan's blankness is all a lie.

He looks up at Zaeed and is troubled to see wonder on the merc's face. "Mine are on the inside."

Zaeed blinks, and his expression turns -- not sardonic. Just... knowing. Accepting. "Think I don't get that?" His hands tighten in warning, and suddenly Kaidan's on his back and Zaeed's on him, grinding hunger into him with his crotch, and Kaidan can't help shuddering. "Don't give a damn where your scars are. I said you were pretty, and I meant it."

Well, then. Kaidan relaxes, and the pressure and rub of Zaeed and cloth against his cock is amazing, and he lets himself drift beneath the slow rhythmic promise of it all.

Then Zaeed shifts off him a little, moving aside so he can undo Kaidan's pants, and that's better than a promise. Zaeed doesn't waste time fondling him once the pants are loose, just jerks at them and his underwear even as Kaidan's cock bobs and slaps against his hand. Kaidan's not being very helpful because it's been too long since he felt this, skin and heat and hair rubbing against his own skin and heat and hair. While Zaeed tries to get him naked, Kaidan's hands roam Zaeed's hips, his flanks, his back; he sits up and bites at Zaeed's collarbones; he's trying to get a leg over Zaeed's hips even though that means his pants won't come off; he can't get enough.

Zaeed laughs good-naturedly at his feverishness. But he disentangles himself and stands up, grinning down at the sight of Kaidan exposed and panting and thoroughly mussed, his pants only half off. Kaidan curses and sits up on one elbow to glare at him, too horny to be embarrassed. " _What?_ "

"Calm down and take your goddamn _pants_ off, Alenko, or at least turn over so I can fuck you with 'em still on."

Oh. Kaidan gets to his feet, finding himself shaky and uncoordinated as he curses and hops on one foot; one of his boots is being stubborn. Behind him Zaeed's opening one of the nightstands and rummaging, muttering to himself. "Bloody Shepard's fucking a turian, for Chrissake, gotta have some -- ah, there we are." Kaidan glances back and then has to look away just as quickly from the sight of all that flesh and all those tattoos and all those scars and all that upright cock, ready and waiting for him. Just as soon as he gets this damned _boot_ off.

"Time's up." Zaeed grins as his hands slide around Kaidan from behind, pulling him back against that body and those tats and _that cock_. The merc's not playing anymore, either, because one of his hands wraps tight around Kaidan's cock and the other slides up to turn Kaidan's head to the side so his whiskey mouth can demand another soft kiss. This time his hand pumps in time with his tongue, though, and Kaidan forgets he's still got one boot on and that his pants and underwear are puddled around one ankle as he makes a muffled sound of not-quite-protest. It feels incredible, but he doesn't want to come too soon. Not before he's had what he wants.

So he reaches back, fumbles, and finds Zaeed's cock where he can feel it pressing against his ass. Zaeed makes a sort of purring sound; Kaidan jerks free of his mouth and then has to struggle a moment to form his thoughts into words. He doesn't need the words, though; Zaeed's good at reading him already. "Want this?" Zaeed says, grinning and thrusting against his hand.

"I _said_ I did." He grits the words out, because his teeth are clenched. His whole body's shaking. "So why are you -- "

Zaeed laughs again and reaches off to the side. "Right, right." There's a pop and a quick liquid sound, and suddenly Zaeed's cock is _slick_ as it rubs against Kaidan's ass. Kaidan imagines Zaeed just pushing him down and shoving it in, all that thick sweet weight that he can feel slipping over his skin, but he knows that's a bad idea because it's been literal years since he's done this. The bed's right there, though, so he bends forward to prop his hands on it, inviting, trying to relax, letting Zaeed urge him forward until they're both kneeling on the mattress. Then he bites his lip and groans as Zaeed tests him first with slow, flexing fingers.

"Fucking gorgeous," Zaeed breathes, working his fingers gently; it's perfect. His free hand slides down Kaidan's back, over one cheek, admiring; his thumb rubs little circles at the root of Kaidan's cock, making him curse and bite his lip and clutch at the sheets. "Been thinking about this arse of yours since I got on board. Figured somebody else was riding it, Shepard maybe, that asari, anyone. Couldn't believe it was _nobody_."

"I..." Kaidan's not sure what to say. Not sure how to confess that he's had fantasies about Shepard for years -- same as Zaeed probably, same as everybody -- and consoled himself for her "death" with that doctor on the Citadel, but otherwise has satisfied himself with duty and the occasional lonely wank in his bunk. That makes him sound like such a bore. And _bore_ is not a word that makes sense when he's crouching on a bed in someone else's guestroom with Eletania-fluffdown sheets tickling the tip of his cock and a man's hand halfway up his ass and his skin tingling and his breath coming hard and a need too fierce to describe filling his brain with _now, now, please, now, don't make me wait anymore_.

But his brain goes silent when Zaeed's warmth covers his back. "Can't be leavin' you _neglected_ ," the old merc growls, and those aren't fingers sliding into him, not anymore.

Then it's fucking. Just fucking, over and over again, relentless and burning and thrilling and unending and _God_ he's murmuring aloud, begging for Zaeed not to stop, _God_ it's rougher than anything he's ever had but, _God_ it's _better_ than anything he's ever had and _God_ he can feel the orgasm building already and it's terrifying in its power. He fumbles for himself with one hand and just holds his cock for dear life, doesn't stroke or anything because that will make him come too soon and there's a part of him that needs the relief but the rest of him wants to know just how good this can get, how far he can go, how much he can take before he breaks.

And Zaeed knows it, somehow; Kaidan can feel that. The merc's pace is measured, deliberate, torturous, cruel. He grips Kaidan's shoulder with one hand to keep him in place, and he's planted the other hand on the bed to brace himself, and Kaidan loves the little breaths of effort that the merc utters as he fucks and fucks and fucks. _God_ his stamina's amazing, and Kaidan groans out something in broken praise of it. In between those little breaths Zaeed presses his damp forehead to Kaidan's back and grates out, muffled: "So fucking sweet... just a little more, beautiful. Take it proper, yeah, take me, all you want. So fucking _good_ , Alenko, _ah_..." And Kaidan almost comes just from the sound of _Zaeed Massani_ , Blue Suns founder and most brutal mercenary in the Terminus Systems, moaning and almost undone upon him.

He doesn't come from that. He comes from being fucked so hard and for so long that he loses every bit of the self control he's spent his life building. It's a dangerous thing, really; biotics aren't supposed to lose control like that. Things in the room rattle when he's close, and shadows chase over the walls because he's _glowing_. But Zaeed only laughs breathlessly and grips him tighter and makes an awful, hilarious sound somewhere between a wheeze and a scream and that's the breaking point, that's Kaidan's limit, that's when he

just

oh shit he's going to die, he's going to scream, he's going to _break the world_ , it's too terrible and magnificent for words to capture.

He's hyperaware of everything as the endorphins wash out. The skin-itch of his fading biotic flare, the drip of Zaeed's sweat down his back to mingle with his own, the matching pace of their panting as they come down from the high. Kaidan's still got one boot on, pants bunched around the calf and perilously close to the sticky little dribble he's left on the sheets. It doesn't occur to him to move the leg.

Zaeed's still hard, and he thrusts once, gently and experimentally. "Nnh," Kaidan grunts, and somehow from this Zaeed susses that it's too much, Kaidan's too sensitive, he can't take anymore.

"Later, then, maybe," the merc mutters, sliding out of him. Kaidan winces; _much_ later, maybe, because he's sore as hell. Maybe he needs some medigel. But he lets Zaeed push him forward to flop on his belly, and he likes it when Zaeed flops on top of him, softening cock nestled suggestively in the cleft of his ass and big tattooed arms bracketing his own unmarked ones. He likes it enough that he imagines Zaeed doing him like this next time, all pinned down, hands gripping his, gravelly voice whispering in Kaidan's ear to beg him to _lift up your arse, beautiful, take me right in, just a little more, yeah_...

Next time? Huh.

"Yeah, Massani," he murmurs into the sheets. "Later."

It's easy to imagine the merc's lopsided smile, even before a lazy wet kiss gets pressed to the back of his neck. And it's nice to feel the heavy rumble of Zaeed's chuckle, like a purr all over his body. Nice to be so warm, too, and so tinglingly sated, and to feel somehow safe despite being trapped under so much muscled weight. He's sleepy, and Grunt's now snoring in the shower, and everyone downstairs probably heard that sound Zaeed made when he came, and... Kaidan doesn't care. About any of it, at least not for now. Maybe not ever again.

He sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Latter half of the chapter was inspired by this lovely image (NSFW): http://fuckyeahnuzzling.tumblr.com/post/78489509622


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a Tumblr prompt. Was pleased enough with the result to add it here.

He doesn’t really avoid Zaeed, when the party is over and the Citadel’s behind them and the march toward endgame has resumed, grimmer than ever.  He doesn’t really think about what happened, either, even though sometimes he wakes in the mornings hard and aching and hearing a gravel-voice murmur _take it, beautiful_ ; he shivers when this happens, with the memory of pleasure.  But the ship’s too small to avoid anyone, and anyway, he gets that it was just a one-night thing.  Guy like Zaeed?  Kaidan knows better than to want more than what he’s gotten.

When he sees Zaeed in the mess or the lounge, when they play cards together or whenever Shepard tags them for a mission together, it’s remarkably easy to talk around.  The whole damned ship knows, of course; everyone witnessed him dragging Zaeed upstairs at Shepard’s party, heard grunts and soft cries from the guestroom, saw Kaidan walking funny the next day and Zaeed looking worn out, both of them smug and satisfied. (Maybe a little sheepish on Kaidan’s part, too.) So it’s important to Kaidan that everyone also see he can be professional about it. He figures that’s how Zaeed rolls, too.  Regardless, it’s a lot easier to handle than some affairs Kaidan’s had, and for that, he’s grateful.

But he’s feeling antsy one day.  Shepard’s just killed another Reaper on Rannoch, this time by herself, and the tension of watching helplessly while she ran and painted the target and ran again has not faded. He’s gone into the Obs Deck as usual, but staring out at the great empty void has not soothed him the way it normally does. His fist is tight, and his pulse is racing, and he’s staring at a winking object that looks like a star and is actually probably a galaxy far beyond the Milky Way’s rim, whose people don’t have to deal with this _shit_.

He hears the door open behind him and tenses.  It’s “public” space, but nobody ever comes in here except Shepard; that’s why he likes it. But he knows that Shepard is in her quarters, probably with Garrus, and for fuck’s sake he _doesn’t_ want to think about the turian getting what Kaidan never had the courage to take when it was offered.  He’s feeling rude, so he says to whoever has intruded upon his solitude, “Little alone time, please.”

"If you want," says Zaeed, and Kaidan catches his breath because he didn’t know he wanted to hear that gravelly voice until he _does_.  “Figure you could use something better, though, yeah?”

He turns, and Zaeed’s grinning as he saunters closer, and all of a sudden Kaidan’s dick is so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t burst out of his fatigues. “Get over here,” he says.  He’s _shaking_ as he says it, lifting his omni-tool and fumbling as he dials up the program he built for it after the party.  In case.  It minifactures a one-micrometer-wide field around any object — or body part — to allow mass-free close contact.  Like nice slippery lube without the mess.  Also filters for diseases, even though there’s nothing out there that can’t be easily cured these days.  Kaidan’s just old-fashioned like that.

And Zaeed’s old-fashioned enough himself that his armor has quick-release catches around the codpiece, which he works with one hand as he crosses the room.  In case.  Also, actual velcro on the bodysuit underneath — who uses _velcro_? Completely not spaceworthy.  But then he’s taking his cock out, and Kaidan swallows because he didn’t get a good look before and it’s perfect, wide and hard and marked along the sides with tattoos that make Kaidan think of speed lines.  His cock glows for a moment as Kaidan applies the field, which would be hilarious if it didn’t make his mouth water.  He thinks about dropping to his knees, but can’t decide whether to face Zaeed or the window when he does it.

Zaeed makes the choice for him, coming over and yanking open Kaidan’s pants and turning him roughly to the window.  Kaidan’s breathing hard.  He plants his hands on the plexiglass and spreads his legs as Zaeed tugs his pants down and positions himself.  The Obs Deck door isn’t locked.  Kaidan doesn’t care, though.

Zaeed’s in him then, no stretching and no foreplay, deep and brutal and exactly what Kaidan needs.  It hurts, of course, and he grits his teeth and bows his head beneath the discomfort.  Zaeed leans close, and there’s whiskey on his breath as he murmurs, voice broken by rhythm, “All right?”

"Just do it," Kaidan says, breathing out carefully.  He likes that Zaeed sort of shrugs and grips his hips and obeys, without any further hemming or hawing. 

Then it’s just like the first time, steady and relentless, perfect once he finally relaxes and the burn fades.  Zaeed doesn’t hurry, despite the risk of discovery that increases with every passing moment.  Probably doesn’t give a shit whether someone catches them at it, any more than Kaidan himself does.  (No one ever comes in here except Shepard.) Definitely doesn’t give a shit that they’re probably giving EDI a fascinating education in the vagaries of the human libido. 

Not necessarily a _good_ education, though; for some reason Zaeed leaning forward to lick Kaidan’s neck is the thing that sends him over the edge.  Not Zaeed’s fingers, which ghost along the underside of his cock in flutters, surprisingly gentle even as the sound of clapping flesh fills the room; not Zaeed’s cock, which is heaven inside him.  Just a tongue and the graze of teeth, and a very soft gravelly-voiced groan, and the barely-perceptible tremor of the old merc’s hand where it grips Kaidan’s hip.  This is how a man like Zaeed breaks down.  This is when Kaidan lifts his head and watches Zaeed in the window’s reflection.  He sees that Zaeed’s face has constricted in something like pain, it’s so beautifully clear that the merc is struggling to hold on, he’s panting open-mouthed and his eyes are half shut and he’s coming apart and _it’s Kaidan who’s doing this to him_. 

He sees his own face in the reflection too, breathless, grinning with cold ferocity, before the orgasm shuts his eyes.

When he becomes aware again, Zaeed’s hand has shifted from Kaidan’s hip to his chest, holding him in place, and he’s stopped fucking and switched to grinding, shuddering in little spasms as he comes.  His voice is silent, but his face is anything but, and Kaidan drinks in the merc’s pleasure.  Then Zaeed sags, pressing his face into Kaidan’s neck and groaning in relief.  Only Kaidan’s arms, braced against the window, hold them up; his knees threaten to buckle.  There’s some spatter on the window and floor, for which Kaidan is again himself enough to feel embarrassed by.  Should’ve omni-tooled himself too; ah, well.  They pant together awhile.  Then Zaeed slides out, and there’s a quick shield-reset sound as the mass effect field vaporizes, leaving him nice and clean.  Kaidan does like being neat, which is why he grimaces as he pulls up his pants and tucks himself away.  He’ll find a piece of solvent-film later, clean up after himself.

Then he turns to Zaeed, slumping back against the glass, still catching his breath and trying to compose himself.  Zaeed’s armor is back in place, and he hasn’t even broken a sweat.  He props an arm on the glass near Kaidan’s head and leans in close, closer, forehead to forehead.  He’s still breathing hard too, a little.  His mismatched eyes are steady on Kaidan’s face, and Kaidan braces himself for words.  He’s not ready to think yet, let alone talk, but he’ll do what he has to.

Zaeed just touches him.  Big heavy hand brushing hair from his forehead.  The hand moves down, cups his cheek, and then the fingers slide up into his hair.  All the while Zaeed’s forehead is pressed against his, and his eyes aren’t blinking.  What does this look mean?  Kaidan isn’t ready to think about it.  He smiles, though; can’t help it. It _was_ a really good fuck.  That seems to satisfy something in the merc, so Zaeed grins back, lopsidedly.

He backs off, still grinning, then finally turns and heads out of the room.  Kaidan watches ‘til the door closes, and quietly reverberates in his wake.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triggered by another prompt: needy!Zaeed.

He knows Zaeed’s going to go soon.  The merc’s not a member of the crew this time, just bumming a ride from the Citadel to somewhere more befitting of a man in his line of work, and more lucrative.  Kaidan knows when he hears that they’re headed to Omega — Omega which is rebuilding, which is Aria’s territory again, and where a man with Zaeed’s connections will soon be swimming in eezo-backed credits — that this is pretty much it.

He feels… he’s not sure how he feels.  That bothers him.  He should be sure. Shouldn’t he?

But he wanders down the levels and into the cargo hold where Zaeed’s berthing, not really thinking about what he’s doing.  Cortez glances at him and nods; he nods back. Vega doesn’t even look up from whatever he’s doing to that rifle mod. Zaeed, however, moves to walk with him almost before Kaidan’s aware of his presence, and steers him with shoulder nudges toward a shadowed alcove amid the storage containers.  Kaidan almost smiles, but the merc doesn’t as he pushes Kaidan back against some crates.  Then he just looks at Kaidan, his half-shot-off face full of… something.  That bothers Kaidan too, but not in a bad way.

"Been thinkin’ about sucking you off," Zaeed says.

Kaidan blinks, then considers.  “All right.”  Almost before the words are out, Zaeed’s on his knees.

It’s nothing like Kaidan expects.  Zaeed’s so gentle this time, almost reverent, as he holds Kaidan’s cock and drags his tongue along its ridges.  As he closes his lips around the still-half-sheathed glans, and teases Kaidan out with the tip of his tongue.  As he closes an armor-clad hand around Kaidan’s balls and massages him, somehow, with just the bodysuit fingerpads.  He never takes Kaidan far into his mouth.  Kaidan figures that’s because Zaeed’s had such shitty reconstructive surgery; it’s obvious the man can’t open his mouth far.  But he _wants_ to.  That’s obvious too.

It’s enough, though. Between that flicking tongue and the suckling lips and the stroking hands and the look of closed-eye bliss on the man’s face, Kaidan shudders all too soon, pressing a hand against his mouth to stifle the groan that threatens.  He’s still seeing stars when Zaeed gives him a last lick and then tucks him back away, getting to his feet and patting Kaidan’s crotch fondly, ruefully.

"We all live through this," he says, leaning close to murmur this in Kaidan’s ear, "and you don’t settle down with some goddamn respectable type who won’t do you in a cargo hold, come find me."

Then he’s gone, before Kaidan even realizes it’s a farewell.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smexy bits in this one, just positioning.

He thinks about all of it, while he’s recovering from the near-end of the world.

Shepard’s gone.  Nobody knows what happened on the Citadel — they found Anderson’s body along with thousands of others, but never hers.  The Reapers have changed in a way that makes no sense, but at least they’re helping rather than hurting now.  It’s frustrating to have no closure, but at least he’s still alive to regret it.

Chakwas has bigger fish to fry than Kaidan’s injuries, which are relatively minor despite the whole near-miss-from-Reaper-plasma thing, so she releases him after a few days. There’s plenty to do, what with them having crash-landed on an uncharted planet and all, and he does it, helping Joker and Cortez and Gabby and Ken fix the ship with his paltry tech skills, and trying to fill the gaping hole Shepard has left in her crew — even though he knows he can’t.  He spends a lot of time with Garrus,  because everyone can see his grief, even behind that “duty first” facade all turians try to put up. None of them are any good at it, but Kaidan supposes the effort keeps their mind off other things.

So of course it’s Garrus who finally looks at him as they’re sharing a dextro- and levo-beer in the mess, and says, “What the hell are you doing here, Alenko?”

Kaidan sort of blinks.  “Excuse me?”

"You’re a Spectre. Why’d you even come back to the _Normandy_?  You should’ve stayed on the Citadel and been a credit to your race, or whatever Spectres do when they’re not shooting Councilors. Or if you couldn’t take the Council’s shit — not that I blame you — you should’ve commandeered some Alliance vessel and gone _somewhere,_ done _something._   Why here?  Why this?  You’re spinning your wheels, and everybody knows why.”

"Oh, do they?" Kaidan forces a laugh, even though… he has been. He’s felt it every day since… well.  "Spinning my wheels helping to save the galaxy, right.  I’ll try to procrastinate in a less-productive way, going forward.  So tell me what else everybody knows."

Garrus shrugs his weird collar of — bone? vestigial wings? Only Shepard will ever know, probably.  “You had a thing going with that mercenary,” he says, swigging from his dextro bottle.  “Shocked the hell out of most of us; we figured you were so, uh — “

Kaidan’s laugh is real this time. “Yeah.  I know.”  It had shocked him, too.

"Right.  So, maybe what you need is some excitement. A little dirt and amorality to balance your squeaky integrity-poster-child thing."

Kaidan considers his options. The Citadel is barely livable now; the Council’s forbidden any newcomers while the existing population lives in the dark and has nothing but nutrient paste to eat. Earth’s basically a frontier planet, being colonized by its colonies since there’s not much of the original populace left at all. That’s a good and bad thing: good in that colonials prioritize things like environmental impact and the needs of the many; bad in that colonials have a certain ruthless ruggedness that makes them prone to solve problems with fists — or guns.  Maybe they could use a Spectre to keep order. “Plenty of dirt and amorality back on Earth.”

"Yeah, but it’s not the _right_ kind of dirt and amorality for you.”

Oh for — “I’m not exactly pining for him, Garrus, if you haven’t noticed.  It was just… physical.”  _Benefits_ , without the _friends_ part.  He shrugs. “Massani’s not the sort of guy you drop everything and go rearrange your life for, anyway.”

"No," says Garrus, sitting back and turning to give Kaidan the full face of his damned turian pushiness. "But he is the kind of guy who makes you lose the stick up your ass and _relax_ , obviously.  Take it from a former professional ass-stick-holder:  we could all do with some relaxing after the past few years, Kaidan.”

Ain’t that the truth.

So when they get the ship flying again, and they join the highway of ships making the slow months- or years-long interstellar grind between systems that once took minutes to reach, Kaidan makes a decision.  And when the extranet becomes active again, he runs a search.  It’s not a difficult bit of information for a Spectre to find, once he’s got access to the Council-space feeds again, and Liara does him a solid with a bit of free information too.  It’s pretty clear Massani doesn’t want casual (or vengeful) visitors, but aside from that he’s retired.  Time to relax.

Bekenstein, huh? Not much left of it after the Reaper bombardment, but already the ash has settled, and the Alliance has made rebuilding there a priority; too important to the human economy.  Close to the Citadel, too.  He tries not to read too much into that.

Bekenstein, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added this only because I wanted to leave things open-ended, in case I or spectremassani decides to revisit it. Also, picked Beckenstein because it's one of the options Zaeed sounds pleased with when he contemplates retiring (in the Shadow Broker's files on the ME companions). Looks like it would have some nice beaches for him and Jesse to chill on.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was inspired by Wargoddess' last chapter to write another myself.   
> So here it goes:

After speaking with Garrus, Kaidan had really been forced to think about what he wanted from Zaeed Massani. He’d never been the kind to just have casual sex, and the merc was a habit he just couldn’t seem to quit. The way Zaeed could make him relax was nothing short of miraculous, more addictive than red sand. But Zaeed wouldn’t want anything more. Of that he was certain.  
  
Although that last time, when they said their goodbyes… He was sure he’d seen something in the way the man looked at him… Fuck it, he’d wasted too much time when he’d been pining over Shepard, too damn scared to just make his move and know for sure. He needed to do this. Needed to  _know_ , for sure.  
  
He was running circles around it in his mind all the way to Bekenstein. He planned what he’d say on the shuttle down, going over all the things he needed Zaeed to hear.  _I missed you,_ being the most important of all.   
  
He’s at the door before he knows it, ringing the old-fashioned doorbell, and Kaidan smiles at that, it’s just like the one at his grandmother’s old house, what a nostalgia kick. He almost rings again just to hear that distinctive tone, but then the door opens and Zaeed’s standing there with this look of surprise on his face for just half a second before it’s covered by something else, and Kaidan’s mind goes blank.   
  
He fumbles out a greeting, and something must have tipped Zaeed off about his reason for being here because the next thing he knows Zaeed’s stepped outside and is pulling him forwards by the collar of his shirt. Zaeed doesn’t move to kiss him, yet, just drags him into his embrace.   
  
Kaidan can’t help the laugh that comes when he hears Zaeed mumble, a little more gruffly than usual, “I was fucking wondering when you’d get here.”  
  
It seems to take all the air out of him, and his knees go a little weak at the idea that Zaeed would be waiting for him, even though they'd made no promises.  
  
"Missed me, eh, old man?" Kaidan asks, his voice a little strained with barely suppressed emotion, but still teasing. He wraps his arms around Zaeed and holds him a little tighter than necessary, anyway.  
  
Zaeed lightly cuffs him around the back of the head with a grumbled chastisement for calling him old, and that makes Kaidan laugh, really laugh, for the first time since the end of the war. It feels like removing the pressure seals on armor after a hard day on duty, that relief that seems to only come when Zaeed's near and taking the piss out of him in the way only he can do without causing offense. He buries his face against Zaeed's shoulder and takes a deep, shuddering breath to calm himself.   
  
"Yeah. I did." Zaeed responds and he sounds so damn earnest that it does bring a tear to Kaidan's eye.  
  
He lifts his head back to look into Zaeed's eyes as he traces the scarred cheek with his thumb. "I missed you too."  
  
Those four words are fairly dripping with emotion, but Zaeed just nods and smiles that little lopsided half-smile of his before taking Kaidan's hand away from his face and leading him inside.   
  
It's a beautiful house, inside as well as out. He could really see himself settling down somewhere like this eventually. Zaeed's got great taste, everything's polished dark woods, heavy cottons and mahogany leather, and then Kaidan's not paying attention to the decor any more because Zaeed's spun him around with remarkable grace and precision and is walking him backwards towards the huge sofa and trailing little lovebites down his neck.  
  
Kaidan groans as Zaeed palms him through his pants, providing sweet friction on his hardening length. He's quick to return the favor, too, popping the buttons on Zaeed's jeans one handed with a practiced ease then slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers, trailing teasingly over the head, and then down to massage his balls. Kaidan spins them around again and pushes Zaeed down on the sofa so he can kneel in front of him and pull off his jeans, then taste the big, hard cock that's desperate for his attention.  
  
He's all teasing licks and kisses to the tip at first, until Zaeed's hand works its way through Kaidan's thick, dark hair, forcing him to take his dick into his mouth fully. Kaidan works at relaxing his jaw as he bobs up and down, sucking lightly, until he can start to take Zaeed deeper. He starts adding little biotic pulses as he traces the sensitive skin on Zaeed's legs, working up over the hard planes of his stomach and then to tweak a nipple hard enough to make Zaeed gasp and his eyes narrow.   
  
Zaeed drags him up to his feet and makes short work of his belt buckle and pants until everything's pooled around his ankles and Zaeed looks up at him with a smile that is positively sinful. "That little trick you used last time... Use it, and fuck me?"   
  
Kaidan's more than happy to oblige as a barrier of dark energy envelops his cock and Zaeed spreads his legs wide. Kaidan hooks them over his arms, then, positioning himself at his entrance and then pushing forward with excruciating slowness.  
  
He can see Zaeed trying to relax as he stretches, but when he opens his eyes and looks up at Kaidan it's clear he's definitely enjoying the slight burn, so Kaidan keeps pressing into him until Zaeed's taken all of his length.  _Damn this feels so good,_  Kaidan thinks as he thrusts experimentally. At Zaeed's long, pleased groan he repeats the movement, and it's not long before he's pounding into the man beneath him, and Zaeed's almost whimpering, and  _oh fuck_ ,  _oh god, oh holy fucking hell,_ he's so close _, so, so close,_ he's going to _..._ He's louder than he's been in years when he feels Zaeed spurt across his abdomen and it pushes him over the edge, screaming, into the abyss.   
  
It's a few minutes before they come back to themselves properly, Kaidan softening and slipping out. He presses a few gentle kisses to Zaeed's sweat-soaked brow, then moves down to nibble affectionately on his lower lip.  
  
When they part, Zaeed chuckles to himself ruefully. "I don't suppose I can take you out to dinner, later?" He asks as Kaidan makes a small noise of questioning.  
  
"Yeah." Kaidan smiles, and kisses him again.


	6. Chapter 6

_Benefits_ without the _friends_ part, he'd thought. So now they start getting to know each other, through sex.

"Skyllian Blitz," Zaeed says, as Kaidan traces another patchy skin graft along Zaeed's side, where clearly a chunk got taken out of his ribcage at some point. Kaidan's tracing the graft with his tongue, and is pleased to note how much more Zaeed reacts when he moves along the seam where the omni-skin meets natural skin. The nerves are more sensitive here. In token of which, Zaeed's breath quickens as he says, "C-caught the edge of a missile. Didn't come out of it as pretty as Garrus."

Kaidan smiles. "And here?" He curls his fingers and drags the nails lightly down a long, vining scar on Zaeed's right thigh. His other hand traces this movement with a fingertip along Zaeed's cock. Zaeed shudders a little and lets out a long breath.

"First Contact War. Turian vanguard. She was -- shit, that's _nice_ \-- they're all venomous, did you know? Almost... nnh, died from the poison before the medics figured it out. S'why turian men are scared shitless of their women; bloody deadlier."

"First Contact? How the hell old _are_ you, Massani?"

"None of your goddamn business."

He's rolled Zaeed onto his belly and is fucking him with deliberate, teasing slowness while tracing the countless lines -- some of them hard to see beneath the tattoos -- on his back. He frowns as he recognizes the pattern of some of these marks. "Have you been whipped?"

"Y-yeah." Zaeed's breath is shaky. His hands clench and unclench on the sheets. It's the second time they've fucked in his bed today. "Got caught by... batarian pirates. The ones who u-used to be slaves, you can always tell. They like to pass on the pain. Oh, you're fucking _killing_ me, beautiful."

Kaidan leans down, and where he can reach the whip-marks along the back of Zaeed's shoulders, he kisses his way down each of them, imagining them vanishing as he does so.

"Suck it up, Massani."

Later he notices that one of Zaeed's hands doesn't close completely when the man's taken hold of each of his ankles, holding Kaidan's legs up and apart so he can nibble his way down one calf. Kaidan forgets to ask about that injury.

Another time: they're in the shower, in the dark. Zaeed's house -- villa, really, a sprawling edifice full of expensive things, the mercenary life has clearly been good to him -- has actual plumbing, and uses actual purified Bekenstein water, because Zaeed's old-fashioned like that. This water is currently falling in a soft spray directly onto Kaidan's head. It's ice cold because Kaidan's got one of his migraines. He's half-propped against the wall, panting in hopes that he won't throw up, and Zaeed is kissing the back of his neck. Not touching Kaidan any other way, because Kaidan's too sensitive to sensation right now -- but the kisses, light and careful as they are, are okay. Better than okay. He shudders just a little when Zaeed nudges up into his hair and nuzzles the base of his skull. It's the closest spot to his implant; somehow Zaeed knows that. Zaeed, he is discovering, knows a lot of things.

(Two days from now, Zaeed will pin him against the same wall and rim him for an hour beneath a searing-hot spray, and Kaidan will sob with the glory of it.)

And so on, and so on. There's no routine to any of it. There's no sense of time passing or urgency. No normalcy, either, though -- they don't bother with any of the usual strictures of etiquette or politeness. There's no need, since there's no one else around; the nearest other people on the planet are in Survivors' City, at least an hour away by shuttle-flight. Kaidan never asks to stay; Zaeed never asks how long he'll be. They don't even bother putting on clothes, most days. Kaidan copies his "lube shield" to Zaeed's omni-tool so either of them can bring it up at will, and then he laughs at the sight of Zaeed walking around with his dick glowing orange. Sometimes this makes Zaeed swagger over and start trying to use it. Sometimes Kaidan grabs it and tugs to reel Zaeed in -- carefully, of course. The shield's slippery.

There's a deck outside, near the edge of the placid Bekenstein ocean, and they spend a lot of time out there soaking up the sun and thinking of nothing, comfortable in silence. There's no need to fret over supplies; Zaeed's somehow got a whole shipping container full of mass-suspended food, four-star quality, once meant for a swanky Bekenstein resort that no longer exists. Kaidan decides not to ask him how he got it. Anyway... heroes of the galaxy deserve a few porterhouse steaks, don't they? So he relaxes. He relaxes a lot.

The one time Kaidan has half a thought of doing work -- takes out a datapad, starts skimming his email while leaning on the kitchen island -- Zaeed says nothing. Just strolls over, easy as you please, and looks over his shoulder while also wrapping his good hand 'round Kaidan's cock like he owns it.

"This is classified," Kaidan says, shuddering and fighting the urge to let his eyes flutter shut.

"Yeah, figured." Zaeed gets comfy against Kaidan's back, and of course he's getting hard too.

" _You can't look at it_ , is what I mean."

"Easy enough way to deal with that." The fingers of Zaeed's good hand are remarkably deft. Kaidan's already panting. But he's stubborn. He keeps looking at the datapad, trying to angle it in ways so Zaeed can't see the screen and refusing to put it down, even as Zaeed utters a rough, wicked chuckle and starts easing his own cock into Kaidan. "Oh, bloody Morlan spam, again? Figures that bastard survived the Citadel."

Kaidan has to fumble for the edge of the island, grip it to brace himself as Zaeed sets up a rhythm. "I think he... hnh... might actually be... STG."

"Really? That little wanker? If salarians wanked, I mean." Zaeed sounds thoughtful, like they're discussing tea, even as Kaidan feels him brace himself and grip Kaidan's hips and really start pumping. It's like other times they've done this, except Zaeed's rotating his hips a little, hitting Kaidan's favorite angle, which he knows full well Kaidan can't take for long. His hand's working too, stroking Kaidan ruthlessly, just the right speed. No mass effect field here; he likes making Kaidan messy. "Never would've figured him for the life. Suppose that's why he's effective? Y'know, I used to know an asari girl, mousiest goddamn thing you ever saw, worse than Liara even -- "

"Uhh, oh... oh, God, you son of a -- "

"Hush, you. Trying to tell a story here. So anyway, turns out she was an assassin for -- "

When Kaidan's fingers go nerveless and the datapad clatters into the sink, Zaeed's laugh is like Mako-tires grinding over a mountain.

And so on. It's not until Kaidan's standing out on the deck one night, leaning on the railing and looking up at a sky full of stars with a glass of single malt in one hand and Zaeed warm and silent beside him, that he thinks the word _love_. And even then, he's just thinking, _I love this_. This idyll. This relief, after carrying so much fear and pain and horror inside him for so long. He doesn't know how Zaeed made a life out of constant fighting, in other people's wars and for other people's causes -- though maybe that's the answer: when it's not your people, your cause, it's easy not to care. And maybe that's why Zaeed's chosen to retire now, even though he could easily pull another few decades as a merc, and given that he'll probably take the occasional job anyway out of boredom. The Reaper War hit everybody's people. It was everybody's cause. And after something like that, even the most hardened soldier needs to relax.

For awhile, anyway. But Kaidan's still a Spectre, and however blown-to-shit the galaxy is right now, there are still plots and conspiracies afoot. He's seen the uptick in activity on the extranet -- when Zaeed was asleep and couldn't get jealous of the datapad, of course. He's heard the whispers in the wire, and knows that already, other wars are a-brewing. Might be the salarians, who were relatively unscathed by the Reapers; some of the dalatrasses are apparently thinking opportunistic thoughts. Might be the asari, who've been making noises about the almost-extinct batarians having too many planets to manage. Might even be the humans, sadly, though Kaidan hopes his people aren't that stupid.

"Lot of goddamn idiots in the galaxy," Zaeed says out of the blue, as if he's been listening to Kaidan's thoughts somehow.

"Yeah."

Zaeed glances over at him. "Getting antsy?"

Kaidan frowns a bit, then shrugs. "Maybe. Not yet." Soon, though.

"Yeah, figured. You're that type."

On impulse, Kaidan says, "Come with me."

"Maybe." Zaeed stretches, joints popping loud enough to make Kaidan wince. Then his mismatched eyes slide toward Kaidan, and suddenly it's just like that night at Shepard's party again, a thousand invitations in a single glance. "Not yet."

He's not wearing a stitch, and all that scarred skin and battle-hardened muscle is free for the ogling. Kaidan knows what that skin tastes like, what every scar feels like. Knows exactly how strong Zaeed is, after being held up against a wall and fucked mindless for what felt like hours. He knows that the gravel of Zaeed's voice softens to fine beach-sand sometimes. He knows that when Zaeed calls him "beautiful", there's nothing ironic or mocking about it.

So he steps away from the railing and moves to face Zaeed, close enough to feel the merc's body heat, gazing into those mismatched eyes. "I can make you come." He means it both ways. Wants it, both ways.

"Think so?" Zaeed's already rising to the occasion, and smiling in that lopsided way of his. They're friends now, right? Maybe more than friends. "Sounds like a challenge, Alenko."

Kaidan spreads his arms and walks backward in the interspecies gesture for _come get some_. But he's grinning as he does it, and he's tingling all over in anticipation as Zaeed peels away from the railing and starts to follow, because the look on the merc's face is pure predator. "Maybe a little bit."

"Well, well," Zaeed says, as they move into the moon-shadowed bedroom. He closes the door behind them, even though there's no one to hear except Bekenstein's native wildlife. And what are a few more howls, to them? "Back to business, then."


End file.
